The Cynic's Pyjamas
by EntrancedCat
Summary: The Morgendorffer women update their sleepwear. This is in response to an Iron Chef posted on ppmb by Szcz about what would change if the series had been written and set in 1930's America.


**AN foreword: Inspired by** **Iron Chef: the Early Invention of 'Daria'** **by Szcz on ppmb. My idea of Daria if the Morgendorffers were in Iowa in 1935.**

 **The Cynic's Pyjamas**

"Mo-om," Quinn opened their bedroom door and called down the hall. "Daria, eww, Daria went to bed naked again. Make her stop."

Quinn closed the door as the hall was even colder than their shared bedroom.

Daria got out of her bed and shivered in Iowa's November cold which had penetrated their second story bedroom. She suppressed her typical natural modesty and a desire to get back under the covers in favor of a higher, more satisfying goal: annoying Quinn.

She padded across the room to stand over the ornate heat register. As warm air washed over her, Daria breathed a silent prayer of thanks that her father and mother made enough money to have taken out the clunky old coal furnace in favor of a new efficient oil burner.

Only when her mother's footsteps sounded up the stairs did Daria pull her housecoat from a peg, stick her tongue out at Quinn, and wrap the long robe around her otherwise nude frame. The slight girl did not let her younger sister see her little smile of satisfaction as the heavy housecoat warmed her.

Quinn returned a 'you're-going-to-get-it-now' smirk to Daria's bratty tongue as their mother knocked on the girls' bedroom door.

"Come back later, please," Daria started. "Leaving for Africa soon to hunt for Dr. Livingstone and the true source of the Nile. Cannot be bothered with trivialities at this time."

Nevertheless their mother Helen Morgendorffer opened the door, leaned against its frame and regarded her two teenaged daughters.

Daria retrieved her glasses and blinked innocently at her mother, "Not Dr. Livingstone, I presume?"

"No more than you're Mr. Stanley of the _New York Herald._ All right, Daria, what's this I hear about you, uh, going native again? Hmm, young lady?"

"Mother, we're studying Rousseau's state of nature in my advanced civics class. I'm doing as much field research as our situation in Des Moines will permit. Besides, the human body is nothing to be assumed of. Remember: '…they were both naked, the man and his wife, and they were not ashamed.' So even Rousseau is supported by the Holy Bible. Surely you can see the grounds of my case, counselor."

Daria knew she could not snow her mother but she could tell by her mother's smile that Daria's allusion to her mother's successful law practice bought her some good will.

"Oh, hogwash," Quinn put in. "Mom, I know you're too smart to buy her baloney. Tell her what she can do with her load of old cobs. She puts her nightshirt on, threshes around in bed for ten minutes then takes it off. I can't get to sleep. You know teens need their sleep or we get all cranky and could even get wrinkles. Mom, you could do with some more sleep yourself, you know."

"Is that true, Daria? The nightshirt makes you uncomfortable? You know it's only going to get colder. You need to wear it, sweetie. This is Iowa, not the Belgian Congo."

Helen turned on her younger one then, "And you watch your mouth, young lady."

"Yes, Mom," Daria came clean. "The nightshirt is just so heavy. I feel like I'm sleeping in a scratchy potato sack. Those sack races at Girl Camp Grizzly were torture enough to my fragile ego. One more night like that and my id may take over and, and, well, something may happen to Quinn. I shudder to think."

"Oh Daria," Quinn took a softer tone even as Daria's words went over her head. "You know I bet you'd like it more if you dyed yours. That plain white doesn't complement anyone's skin. Mrs. Landon helped me use that new formula Rit Dye on mine. See? Isn't it pretty?"

With that Quinn twirled around, her bright pink nightshirt taking a moment before heavily following the movement.

"But knowing you," Quinn pointed an accusatory finger at Daria. "You'd dye it an ishy black or yucky sick green."

"Now girls, girls," Mrs. Morgendorffer's words helped Daria bite back a few choice rejoinders.

When Helen did not follow up her daughters looked at her and saw that she was in thought.

Daria scowled as Helen proposed, "Let's have a ladies' shopping trip to Younker's Department Store this morning. Maybe it's time we went modern with our sleep wear."

"Oh, Mom," Quinn danced about happily. "You mean pyjamas? Oh, they're so stylish, yes.

Sandi, I mean Alexandra, has a couple pair. So soft and elegant in satin and silk. They're the bee's knees."

"And bees are stingy, you dingy." Daria added drily. "Mom, silk? You know we've contributed enough animal cruelty wearing cotton nightshirts thereby depriving a weevil of a decent meal. I refuse to deprive a silkworm of its comfortable cocoon."

"I don't want to hear anymore," Helen commanded. "Get dressed and ready to go you two. Come down for breakfast and say goodbye to your father. He's got a client lead in Keokuk and may be gone for a few days."

A short time later Daria and Quinn arrived in the kitchen dressed in sensible below the knee skirts, shirts and thick sweaters. Helen frowned a bit as she saw that Daria had once again picked a dark green sweater and a skirt in a severe black worthy of a mourning widow. She also noted that it hugged her daughter's slender hips in a way that likely would attract attention from more than one boy at their high school.

"Good morning, Mrs. Landon," both girls chorused as they sat down in front of the warm bowls of fresh cornbread and milk their housekeeper and cook had doled out.

"Grapefruit," Daria said in a flat tone which only her family and Mrs. Landon could recognize as a happy, excited exclamation coming from her. "You found grapefruit in Iowa in November? Let's look for gold near Cedar Rapids next."

Quinn only scrunched up her nose at hers but picked up her utensils and started in.

Mrs. Landon placed two more bowls and fixings down before answering.

"You believe it's such a hard trick to find grapefruit? Girl, I work my connections."

"Hi Mom," a slender black girl about Daria's age came in and sat down in front of a setting. Her mother was busied at the stove and waved.

The three teens munched away happily at their breakfasts; Daria only occasionally looking with envy at the cups of coffee her mother and Mrs. Landon were enjoying.

Daria and Jodie pushed their bowls away and Jodie plunked a worn leather bag on the table. She extracted a thick book and handed it to Daria.

"Thanks Daria, I can't say I enjoyed reading this; I found most of it was very disturbing. The whole European situation is frightening what with Italy invading Abyssinia."

Daria nodded as she looked at the dust jacket: _My Battle_ by Adolf Hitler, abridged and translated by Edgar Dugdale.

"At least _Il Duce_ made the trains run on time," Daria observed.

She tried a tactic on her mother.

"Mom, can I stay home and work with Jodie? We're doing a group report on German politics."

"I don't know Daria, CAN you?"

Daria rolled her eyes. "MAY I? Mother, may I?"

"Jodie," Helen asked. "When is this group project due?"

Jodie glanced at Daria and her own mother before answering truthfully, "In two weeks, Mrs. Morgendorffer."

"Good try, Daria, but you're coming shopping too. Jodie, if Mrs. Landon gives her permission, you may come as well if you like."

Daria and Jodie exchanged "Oh Well" looks as the answer came as a 'No, I want her to study."

Helen nodded approvingly. "Jodie, we'll be back by noon for dinner I'm sure. You and Daria can study after that. We're so happy Daria found someone she can study with."

Quinn objected, "Mo-om, Alexandra, Tiffany and Stacy, uh, I mean Anastasia are coming over this afternoon. We're completing our comparison of rayon vs. real silk for stockings. Can't you take these two grinds to the library or something?"

Daria chuckled, "You know what rayon is, Quinn? That's one of the test questions for being a grind. You're on your way. Jodie and I can induct you into the club soon.

Quinn's eyes grew wide in outrage. "I am not a grind. I'm not. You take that back, Daria."

"Mom, can…may we take that trip to Boulder Dam next year? New ninth wonder of the world they say. I'll make sure Quinn doesn't get too close to the edge."

Helen's response and further words from Quinn were cut short by heavy tramping sounds in the off-kitchen entry and loud male voices. Jodie's father, Andrew Landon, came in followed by Quinn and Daria's father, Jake Morgendorffer.

"Sure thing, Mr. Morgendorffer, I'll get that garage door fixed while you're in Keokuk."

"Thanks, Andrew and it's 'Jake', my man."

"Andrew Landon, Mr. Morgendorffer," Mrs. Landon spoke up as she set down two more breakfast settings. "Check your shoes the both of you before you track more mud onto my clean kitchen floor."

Andrew Landon did a cursory check of his brogans while Jake sheepishly inspected his wingtips. Satisfied, both men sat down to eat.

Mr. Landon let Jake have a few bites before he brought up his subject.

"Mr. Morgendorffer, uh, Jake, you know I tinker around a bit. I've been working with these new synthetics and blends they've been coming out with. I got to thinking with all the traveling salesmen there are nowadays there's a demand for doohickeys to help them on the road. I made a couple try-out models of a folding coffee cup."

He held out two red and black pie-shaped wedges to a curious Jake. Daria was a little surprised that her dad managed to unfold the red model without injury or ranting.

"I'd like you to try these out as you travel, Jake. Things are better here in Iowa; I'm glad I moved us from Maryland but still, nobody listens to a colored man with new ideas. Dammit, oh, my apologies ladies. People say you're the best at marketing in Iowa. If it works out for you, I'd like you to represent me to factories and stores and such. I know you'll play straight with me."

"Wow, a folding coffee cup," Jake stared at the cylinder in his hand in wonder. "That's a great idea, Andrew. I wish I had more coffee to try this out right now."

"Way ahead of you, Mr. Morgendorffer," Mrs. Landon smirked as she poured fresh coffee.

Helen and the girls hugged Jake and were headed out the side door as the men started a deep discussion.

Jodie gathered up her books to find a quieter spot. As Daria left Jodie called out, "Abyssinia."

Daria gave a little wave over her shoulder.

The distaff Morgendorffers settled into their Nash Victoria with Helen driving. Daria tried to carefully observe her; she wanted to drive too soon although the prospect somewhat terrified her. She gave up following the intricacies of driving after a couple blocks.

"Mom," Daria announced. " _Compact_ magazine wants me to do an article for them. Fifteen whole rhinos, I mean dollars, for kind of a controversial piece on Prohibition's effects on teenagers."

Daria waited for her mother's enthusiastic congratulations and Quinn's quieter grunts of jealousy from the backseat to subside before continuing.

"So Mom, I was doing some research and came across a book full of bootlegging and whiskey smuggling cases from the north-western section of our fair state with one 'Helen Barksdale' as the defense attorney. I remember you said that for a few years after Quinn and me came along you kept 'Barksdale' for a professional name."

Her mother both seemed to smile proudly and hunch down a bit in embarrassed anticipation.

"Yes, that was me, Daria. Everyone deserves representation in our legal system. You both know that from civics class young ladies."

"Mom, I'm proud of you!" Daria said sincerely. "Defending poor farmers just trying to make a living away from overreaching government control. But I'm particularly interested in one case, the state vs. Clemens. Clemens was on trial for smuggling Templeton Rye and some rotgut called Minnesota 14 or 'the good stuff'. But about the only witness against him was an old constable named Jenkins who found his stash and destroyed it immediately."

"Yes, dear," Helen straightened up. "I remember it well."

"Jenkins testified," Daria continued. "That he knew it was illegal hooch, uh, alcohol because he could smell it as he smashed the bottles. At trial you waved a bottle of vanilla extract under his nose while he was blindfolded and asked him to identify the smell. He said it was horse manure although I believe he used earthier words. The jury found Clemens not guilty."

Helen grinned widely now, "Yes, dear. Judge Armstrong nearly broke his gavel trying to restore order. Give Armstrong some credit, he didn't let me handle the bottle after I asked him to smell it for himself. He had the bailiff take full control of it and walk it over to that old coot, I mean Constable Jenkins."

Quinn chuckled and Daria turned to see her sister smiling in pride at their mother.

Helen became more serious, "Quinn, Daria, look, I did my job. But what Clemens did was probably not right. Try to understand though, a lot of those farmers lost their crops to grasshoppers that year. They had to make money somehow to feed their families. And I defended a good many widows with orphans who had to make some money by selling a drink or two of illegal beer here and there, allegedly."

"Sure Mom, and could you tell me about those cases you worked on for men from Chicago?"

"Ug, some other time, Daria, some other time."

Helen did a quick glance at the downtown Des Moines post office then returned her full attention to the street.

"Daria, was that your friend Jane Lane going in the post office? She looked so shabbily dressed; I should pay Amanda a visit and see how they're doing."

"Yeah, Mom, that was Jane and she's okay. She's working there. Those We-Poke-Along artists are letting her help with the murals. They're even giving her real wampum, a dollar or two a day."

"Really? I don't know if Amanda would like having her daughter around all those artists from strange cities. They, uh, might try something."

"Jane says that only thing those guys try is trying not to lose to her in poker. Eap, forget I said that." Daria looked at her mother hoping she had not gotten her best chum into Dutch.

"Okay, Daria, I believe you. I just might leave that part out when I talk to Amanda."

The three had an enjoyable morning shopping in the expansive department store, Daria was surprised to experience. She herself found some agreeable black pyjamas with frog-buttons in heavy flannel, agreeable for warmth and prospective sneaking around at night. She also found a flannel pair in plain dark green suitable for mixing with the black pair. Quinn predictably found pairs in pink silk and bright yellow satin.

Quinn and Daria both bit their tongues at Helen's purchase: a pale blue flannel with winsome bumble-bee designs. Quinn kept quiet at the obvious corniness of the design. Daria speculated to herself that the size would be likely a tight fit on her mother and banished thoughts from her head that Helen was perhaps buying them with designs in mind to dress for Jake.

Helen and Quinn both had a chuckle at an obviously humorous display: an adult female manikin done in in an impossibly fluffy pair of pink pyjamas with her feet fully encased. A few strands of brown hair spilled from a hood with floppy bunny ears. A little white cottontail completed the getup. Quinn especially took note of Daria's scowl at the getup.

Soon the girls finished up their school year as blessedly welcome Christmas break came around. Let's play the forty-five rpm record at seventy-eight to come to Christmas morning 1935 at the Schloss Morgendorffer.

"Daria," Quinn thrust a wrapped package into her older sister's hands. "Put this one. C'mon, you promised you'd wear anything I got you after you lost that bet."

"Quinn, I want to thank you again for prompting Mom to have us get those pyjamas, lo those many cold nights ago. The black pair have especially inspired me to emulate the shinobi of Medieval Japan in learning how improvise weapons from common household goods and to be stealthy and invisible around the house at night. Just. Think. About. It."

Quinn ignored that and Daria had no choice but to frown in resignation and take the box into the downstairs powder room to change.

A few minutes later Quinn was doing delighted turns in front of the Christmas tree, "Yes, yes, it was so worth it to spend my babysitting money. Yes, yes. And it was on sale too."

Daria kept her eyes downcast as she shuffled along in the new pyjama's footies, one pink floppy ear falling over her left eye. She caught a glance of herself in a mirror wearing the bright fuzzy pink monstrosity and shuddered. She was flabbergasted as the shudder made the white cottontail bounce and wave.

"Daddy, Daddy," Quinn called. "Come quick and see and bring your Brownie."

Jake Morgendorffer hustled in camera swinging from his neck and bouncing on his ankle length nightshirt. He stopped to admire and give thanks for the family he sometimes thought he would never ever have. He had to encourage Daria to look at the camera as he snapped a few careful pics. Then he goaded his pyjama clad daughters into standing on each side of him as he draped an arm around each while Helen took a picture.

As Quinn danced out of the room to call her friends she exulted, "This is the best Christmas ever, the absolute best."

When Helen heard Quinn chatting away on the hallway phone safely out of sight of the parlor she opened her purse and handed Daria six crisp, new one-dollar bills.

"I don't know if I approve of bribery and you losing on purpose," Helen said as the final bill changed hands. "But it made your sister happy to win that bet. I wanted it to be a surprise too but I thought it was easier to warn you what was in that package."

"Thanks Mom," Daria almost smiled. "Fifteen simoleons from _Compact_ and now six from you. I'm a rich, little teen, not that I'm a greedy guts you understand. Now I can get that leather covered journal from Stationery Jerry, two-and-a-half smackers but it's worth it."

As she tucked the money into the hideous pyjama's pockets she said, "This is the best Christmas ever."

An only slightly comprehending Jake wanted to get into the game. He wrapped his wife and older daughter in a big hug as he exclaimed, "The best Christmas ever, boy, I'll say."

 **THE END**


End file.
